


The Fall of Miraak

by scribensdracones



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/M, Merethic Era, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-22
Updated: 2015-04-22
Packaged: 2018-03-18 14:52:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3573770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scribensdracones/pseuds/scribensdracones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Only little is known of the life of Miraak, the traitor, the champion of Hermaeus Mora, the First Dragonborn. After rising into priesthood among the ranks of the Dragon Cult, the prodigious young man does not only get into contact with the malicious influence of Hermaeus Mora but also discovers a power unknown to mankind up to that point in time . This is the story of his fall from grace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While reading, please bear in mind that the events of this work take place thousands of years before we meet Miraak in the Dragonborn DLC- you will watch him turning into the person we all got to know him as. Due to lack of canon information, I headcanoned everything together to my best abilities and I invite everyone to share your ideas of life and society in the Merethic Era. Also, I will just quickly adress what any author probably secretly thinks: please let the writers know some way if you enjoy their work.

_Praan ko drem ahrk envok wah gosvern kolos hin sil flies voth dovah. Hin slen los zahraan qarah wah lot zii ahrk nii daal hofkiin wah ven do lein. Bo, kul, zeymah, bormah, fahdon, qoreyn. Ko laas, hi lost selor wah dovah, hi rel muz ahrk slaag, hi kept drem nix un sahrot rel ahrk mii lowly vukahmiin. Dukaan, mu pah braag hi vonok ahrk mu fen ni luvmah fah mu mindok tol hin sil daal wah ul._

 

The chant resounded and echoed in the burial crypt, mournful despite its words of salvation and redemption. Countless voices, both male and female, sang for the deceased highpriest Dukaan who was laid to rest in the open sarcophagus in his temple that now would serve as his final resting place. Early in the morning, hours before the actual procession and funeral rites, only two young men held vigil for the priest. Both were clad in dark ceremonial robes to express their grief over the death of someone who served as mentor and guide to both of them. After minutes of merely standing in front of the sacrophagus and listening to the funeral chant in one of the other chambers, the taller of the two moved forward to sit on the edge of the elaborate stone. His gloved hand reached out to adjust the mask of the dead.

Dukaan, we all bid you farewell and we will not cry for we know that your soul return to eternity,” whispered the other man, repeating the words of the last line of the chant before they would start over again- until the time has come for everyone to proceed to the final rites of funeral. “Let it be so,” the man sitting at the rim of the sarcophagus agreed and rose from his position. Tall and handsome, a nordman who probably approached his thirtieth year of life. Keen eyes, attentive and hinting at a mind that was in a constant state of restless thinking, analyzing and vivid imagining.

“Is it true that Relonikiv addressed you today?”, the other Nord inquired incredulously once they left the burial chamber. With his head tilted curiously, he eyed his companion.  
  
“Vahlok, do not look at me as if it was Odahviing or Sahloknir or someone else of real prominence who spoke to me. Yes. Relonikiv expressed is sympathies. I like him, he's more talkative than most dragons. I heard many of them never bothered addressing a mortal. Ever.” His laugh seemed inappropriate given the fact that they both were supposed to be in mourning, but Miraak was of an excellent mood. Everyone knew that the High Council usually chose one of the apprentices of a High Priest as his successor: which meant that either he or his friend Vahlok would rise to the highest rank of the Dragoncult. Excited for the travel to Bromjunaar where the elections would be held by the high council and elated because he knew that there was no way they would choose Vahlok as the next Highpriest of Solstheim.

 

“Actually, Korsulhah once spoke to me too. You know, that's what's weirding me out about dragons. They know everything about everyone and are constantly judging others.”  
“Oh come on, Miraak, stop boasting. So what did he say?”  
“He called me an avok kurahiv, an _overachiever_. Maybe I should set more ambitious goals than just becoming Highpriest. Then at least I have something to really work for once I have been elected... what about 'get Alduin to talk to me' ?” Miraak laughed, carelessly and louder than he should and without regard for Vahlok who equally desired the position of the Highpriest. They both had the same ambition and should be rivals- and yet a bond of friendship has grown between them. It was not always easy... especially now that they stood in each other's ways.

“You are very convinced that you will be elected,” Vahlok just said, not without a certain grudgeful _bitterness_. It was moments like these that truly put their friendship on a harsh trial. Miraak the prodigy, spoiled with every gift one could dare asking for. Believed the world to be his already.

“Oh come on, not the old discussion. It's because I'm the better,” the atmoran said with a wide grin, even if some would consider such a cheerful mood to be very indecent given the fact that both of them were mourning their mentor.

Vahlok's steps slowed down slightly while Miraak just went ahead, seemingly not noticing that his friend stood behind. Maybe he really did not notice. Or maybe he did not care.

 

___________________________

 

“Monah?” The chapel was warmer than the cold outside of Solstheim. Although nothing in comparison to the lavish temples built in honour of the High Priests, this place felt like... home. The priestess Monah, too lowly in rank to have her own mast, already has been old when he had been but a boy. Miraak sometimes wondered how old she really was, impossible to tell.

“Yes, my boy?” At first, he did not even notice her in the shadows due to her black robes. She, too, was in mourning. The old priestess approached her with slow, slightly limping steps and gestured to the altar at the head of the chapel. Miraak understood and took Monah by the upper arm, helped her to kneel down safely. She was old indeed, after all. After a moment of hesitation he knelt down too.

However, neither of them prayed even though their arms were raised to the ceiling as if they meant to address the unmoving frescoes of dragons, wolves and other creatures they venerated.

 “Something troubles you,” Monah started, the gaze of her grey eyes directed at the dragon's head carved in stone which presided over their small carved pantheon. Some days, Miraak felt terribly irked by the fact that she always seemed to be able to read him like that. This day, however, he was nearly thankful for her bringing up this tedious topic first. An ugly truth.

“I had a terrible dream over and over again in the past few nights,” Miraak confessed and finally turned his head to look at her directly. “I believe the Gods are warning me.” Who else could he tell of not Monah who always listened to his woes, troubles and worries? She, who always had been old, understanding and very grandmotherly. Her wisdom... could be trusted, even if he spoke words that might get him executed as heretic if confessed to others. His bows furrowed in nervous agitation as she looked at him with those eyes he could never decipher.  
  
"Tell me about them, Miraak" 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thank everyone who decided to show appreciation by leaving kudos for the first chapter! Okay, I know it's probably not common anymore to do that but I still want to let you know that I appreciate the heck out of everyone who somehow shows that they enjoy this work, be it either by subscribing, bookmarking, commenting or just leaving kudos. Thank you so much. Things like these definitely can make an author's day!

_Steel, fire and blood. The battlefield was in shambles, a bloody massacre that instilled terror in his hardened heart. Men fought men and perished in the fiery breath of their dragon masters. Nausea built up, everything smelt of burned flesh and blood as he stood in the middle of the carnage, bewildered by the spectacle he witnessed, unnoticed by the countless men and women who died with a blade in their chest, an arrow in their back, an axe splitting their head or who fell victims to the countless dragons who circled the area. Miraak was faintly aware of the fact that this must be a dream. Dragons were slain by the blades of men, some attacked each other, the noise was nauseating. He saw dragons **dying** , their bodies igniting, burning up to leave nothing but blank bones as if there had never been any flesh to them. Rays of light in orange, in golden and in blue, energy transferred from the slain dragons to a man who fought like possessed by a demon._

_M̛ir̛a͢a͜k̢_

_His head turned slowly as he heard the voice from far away. Someone called him and he found himself obeying mindlessly, his steps guided by someone other than himself. Miraak merely observed everything with puzzled estrangement. He knew not a single one of the fighters, their faces blurred to him, their blood gushing in all directions without a single drop staining him. Out of his head, watched himself walk through the rows of combattants, past dead dragons, past severly wounded among corpses and scavengers who were out for an easy meal._

__M͢i̧̛͜r̵̢a͜͟a̛k҉̷__

_The priest walked with numb, dull mind, thoughtless, unquestioning. Away from the battle and its noise into an unfamiliar environment. Massive trees far older than any that grew on Solstheim, blocking out the grey day of blood and salughter. Little daylight, pale and feeble as it fell through the dense leaves and branches of the trees around him. The voice called him, softly, such an allure, he felt tired and his head was empty. He had to keep walking, towards the green gleam at the end of the path. Thorny bushes and roots slowed him down, soon enough each step was accompanied by the sound of heavy boots in watery mud._

 

           M̀͘͜ì̛͝r͘͜͢à͜҉a̴͘͢͡k̶̡͘͡͝   
          ҉́̕͜͠           _He was too slow.  He would never find the green light. He couldn't see the path under so much mud and dead wood. He was scared. The voice was drumming in his head. Both allure and threat, his heart thudded against his ribcage in rising panic. Where was the green light? Where was it? The green light. He must reach the green light or he was lost._

 

 

 

  
Silence fell once Miraak finished his recapitulation of the dream that kept haunting him. What kind of a wisdom did he even expect? Everyone knew that there was no omen was ill as to dream of dying dragons. To see the mightiest creatures of Nirn defeated announced great sorrow and he knew that everyone avoided those marked with the ill dreams for they were doomed. Was he doomed? Maybe he just wanted to hear faithless words that told him otherwise. What a disgrace, a grown man who sought the comforting words of an old woman. The piercing stare of her amber eyes grew unbearable and he directed his gaze up at the frescoes above them. The Moth, the Wolf, the Serpent, the Owl, the Whale, the Dragon. Their Gods. 

“I am no dreamreader, Miraak,” Monah started after a long silence of intense thinking. He could still feel her eyes on him, critical and keen in a face that looked so old and weary. “If you are so convinced that this is a sign of the Gods... You will be travelling to Bromjunaar for the appointment of the next High Priest of Solstheim. I know you. You are absolutely certain that you will be chosen and I hold you no grudge for it. Appreciating yourself if of great value.”  
  
Miraak frowned. Why did she start about this? Why did she _digress_? He asked about a word of advice concerning his dreams and did not want to hear another sermon on hunility and confidence. Still, he listened reluctantly, even if only because he hoped that she might get back to the truly important matters.

 The silence weighed down heavy on them and felt quite unbearable. "Do you truly believe that the Gods are telling you something or do you only convince yourself that this is the case because everyone else believes as well?" Monah studied him intently and Miraak felt increasingly uncomfortable under the intense stare of her savant eyes. Out of all possible things she could have said, such a question was the last reaction he had expected. He bit his lower lip in thought, always careful with every single word he spoke around his elders and superiors.   
  
"Truth be told... I don't think so," he finally admitted. He was incredibly sanctimonious, displaying a religious passion and devotion that instilled admiration and approval in those around him. It came as a bitter surprise to realize that Monah might have seen past his mask and he wondered who else was aware of the fact that he often just said whatever he knew would please the others. "I... I think we all are masters of our own fate the moment we are born... until the day we bend our knee and decide to let others dictate our paths. Be it dreams... organizations... people... you know me well, Monah."  
"Indeed, I do," she confirmed dryly. "I have lived long enough to be able to tell who is truly a man of faith and who has no real connection to the spiritual world, but I am in no place to judge you, Miraak."   
  
When she rose, he reached out for her upper arm in case she might lose balance, though his help was not necessary. After some seconds of hesitation, he rose too and followed the old woman to the small room where she lived. An alchemical table, a bed, a bookshelf, a dresser. A curtain shielded away the entry into the small kitchen and dining room. As someone who always lived in great comfort, a lifestyle as minimalistic as hers seemed insufferable to him. He watched her browsing through the various small bottles that cluttered her shelf, flasks and jars and bowls with contents he couldn't name because he never showed any particular interest in alchemy.   
  
"Three drops in a glass of water before you go to bed and your sleep will be dreamless," Monah declared as she handed him a small vial with dark liquid. Miraak eyed it not without some suspicion. "If you do not really believe in your dreams, they sure must be a terrible nuisance to you. Don't worry, my boy." Her wrinkled hand reached up to pat him on his head, she was barely tall enough for that. Something about her smile was terribly amused, maybe even smug in a very special superiority only old people could have: they had it all figured out already.   
  
"Thank you," he said hesitantly and glanced down at the vial in his hands. Three drops each night. He should show it to one of the healers, just to be sure. Who knew how her eyesight was? His smile gave nothing away of these thoughts and Monah smiled brightly as well, revealing slightly yellowing teeth. "And now go, I am sure you have better things to do than wasting your time on chatter with an old woman." 

 

  

“Oh you two are going to Bromjunaar and I _envy_ you so much!” Words spoken with a laugh, a pout, hands put to small hips as the young woman eyed the two priests. “Why won't you take me with you? I won't bother anyone, promise.” Vahlok's little sister pranced through the room from the window to the fireplace, intent on convincing the two men to take her with them. Miraak laughed lowly and shook his head as he folded another shirt into the chest he would take with him. His finest fur too, he wanted to look absolutely regal when his election was announced. Vahlok threw a brief glance to his sister. “Alina, you know that mother and father would never let you go.”  
“You could put me in a box or something. Oh brother!” The brown-haired girl whined in annoyance at their resilience. “Bromjunaar is like... the center of the world. Who knows whether I will ever get another chance? Do you want to let me waste away and go stale like an old potato on this frozen block of an island?” Alina crossed her arms in front of her chest and a sweet smile appeared on her face. “ _But brother._ I want to be there when you become Highpriest!”  
  
Miraak nearly laughed to himself when she tried to butter Vahlok up a little to allow her to accompany them on the travel ot Bromjunaar. Personally, he did not mind. She has grown very pretty in the past few years...  
  
“It's sweet you believe in me so much.” Vahlok sighed in defeat. “You know what? I will get you a pretty new dress just the way it's fashionable in Bronjunaar. Is that a deal?” Alina bit her lower lip, obviously debating on whether this was a good suggestion or not. Finally, she nodded and threw her slender arms around her brother's neck and pressed a wet kiss against his cheek. “Oh thank you! That's just what I need. The other girls will be so.. jealous!” She clapped her small hands and stepped closer to Miraak who was trying to decide between the white fur and the black fur.  
“I wish you good luck too,” she started with a slightly nervous smile, standing in front of the taller man. He smiled back at her and leaned forward, closer to her ear so his whispered words would be a little secret. “Are you really convinced Vahlok will be elected or are you just being supportive?”  
  
This question caught her off-guard quite obviously and she blinked up at him in confusion. “How can I believe anything else?” She blushed and glanced down. Miraak knew that she was, in all maidenly naivety, no airheaded fool. “I feel like a terrible sister for saying this,” she admitted with hushed tone, “... but I think you are the best.”  
  
Miraak smiled and leaned forward to put his lips to the white skin of her forehead under the watchful eye of her brother who was ever since wary whenever he was around any women old enough to fall into the category 'potential prey'. How offensive, to think his best friend could go for his little sister! “Pray for both of us,” he said with his sanctimonious smile of serene enlightenment.

Alina nodded eagerly. "Of course. I will pray for calm seas and good wind in your sails. I will pray that the snow won't hinder your road and pray that you both return home safely, no matter who of you returns as Highpriest." In the mouth of anyone else, Miraak would have perceived these words as mere formal politeness, yet he was sure that she would indeed go and pray for their well-being, a gesture he had some amused appreciation for.

He would take the black fur. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry this chapter took so long- I had quite a 'motivation low'. Seriously, I cannot stress enough how much it means to authors when people show any kind of appreciation for their work- it's what keep many writers going.

“Atmoran blood, born for the sea, you say?” Vahlok was obviously mocking him and by now, Miraak fully regretted claiming that nothing would be more natural to him than spending days and weeks on a ship. If the passage to Solstheim has been this terrible the last time too, then he must have forgotten about it quite formidably. They left the island this morning, along with many other visitors who had come to Solstheim for the funeral of Highpriest Dukaan. The sun would soon set and Miraak had spent the past eternities [= hours] bent over a wooden bucket in their cabin under deck, hoping that he would not throw up the meager meal he dared having despite the terrible nausea that got him a few hours after setting sail.  
Maybe he had been too generous with himself last evening. A great banquet in honour of those who would leave for Bromjunaar for the great elections of the next Highpriest and of course, it was mainly dedicated to Miraak and Vahlok, the acolytes of the deceased Dukaan. Someone outside the predecessor's circle of acolytes was only a rare exception, such as when none of the candidates was deemed appropriate. A rare exception and Miraak was confident that the honours were his already.

“Just shut up if you have nothing useful to say,” he groaned and Vahlok took him by the upper arm, trying to drag up the massive body of his nauseous friend. “You know, I heard people feel much better on ships when they are under free sky at least,” he said and Miraak just nodded, his arm still wrapped around the wooden bucket as if he feared letting go of it. Well, he really miscalculated how well he took to the sea.

The fair wind was freezingly cold but it felt good. It stung on his face like a thousand needles and he soon felt numbness settling on his skin as he put down the bucket and went over to the guardrail instead. What a feeling! The nauesea was quickly replaced by an elating feeling of... he was not quite sure, but it felt wonderful. “I feel... free. Is this what flying is like? Above the clouds, with nothing but the wind as your companion?”, he asked and cast a furtive glance at his friend who stood next to him. Vahlok had pulled up the hood and put on the generic mask of an acolyte just to protect his face from the cold. Miraak would have liked to do that as well, but if he couldn't handle the sea, he had to be able to handle the cold at least.

 

Miraak tried to spend as much time on deck as possible- leaving him in a state of perpetual cold, even when lying down in the cabin, wrapped in blankets and trying not to throw up. The voyage to the coast of Skyrim was very long, they would not be taking the road but rather sail to Filokaaz. Maybe visit the temple of Vokun who died about ten years ago. His successor was yet to attain real fame beyond the mere fact that he had been elected highpries. Vahlok had accompanied Dukaan to both the funeral and the elections at Bromjunaar afterwards.

While he did not show it as openly as Alina did, Miraak felt great excitement at the thought of Bromjunaar- the capital of the northern provinces indeed. The centre of culture, religious worship, science, trade, slavery and anything that could be called 'fashionable'. It was general consensus that one had to visit it at least once in their life- if not for the worship in the lavish temples, then at least for all the other blessings of civilization.

* * *

 “So... shall we join the pitfights? I shoot lightning, ice and fire at them while you keep everyone at a good spellcasting distance?”

The two men were on deck and the harbour of Filokaaz was already in sight. Miraak could barely wait to set his feet on solid ground and he sluggishly glanced at his friend who seemed completely unbothered by the constant, nauseating swaying of the ship. It was difficult to look at him after nearly two weeks of such a miserable state and after what happened in the greenhouse the evening before they left...  
His somber thoughts were swept away once he felt Vahlok's hand on his shoulder. He repeated the suggestion a second time and Miraak finally shook his head. The pitfights... of course, an easy way to impress people. The following week would be hell, they knew it, for it was all down to impressing as many people as possible, trying to convince the electoral sovereigns [= the other highpriests] who would be the better candidate. They were rivals now... and knowing that magic was valued much among the priests, Miraak knew that he would not do himself a favour by swinging a sword instead of wielding fireballs and a staff.  
  
“You know, I really would not risk getting wounded,” he said and Vahlok furrowed his brows. Such an amount of care and thought was unusual for his friend who usually just thirsted for an occasion to prove himself to as many people as possible. Of course, both thought in similar ways: Vahlok, being the better mage, would have an advantage when it came to how impressive he could be. Miraak knew that he would sweep everyone off their feet with his charisma and there was no need to lessen this effect by playing bimbo for his rival. He was above that. Vahlok decided to drop the matter and awkward silence settled between them. 

 

 _The heavy smell of lilies and roses that only survived in the artificial heat of the greenhouse. Air was sweet and heavy and clouded mind and judgement. Everything bathed in pale moonlight, nearly ethereal. Like a dream, white skin under his fingers. Mind dull and numb from drunken happiness and blissful serenity of soul. Forbidden fruits will always be the sweetest of all._   _Nervous chuckles, innocence and sin at his fingertips. So easy. Nausea. Breathing was heavy in the thick, moist ear full of roses and lilies and the faint scent of violets on white skin. Broken magic as the beloved lilies received most unusual manure. It was better that way, he told himself and felt upset regret. Something felt incomplete now._

"Are you awake, Master?"  
Miraak opened his eyes to stare up into a vaguely familiar face. One of the slaves, falmer, he couldn't keep them apart without much focus. He nodded, feeling nauseous. Decided to lie down for a while before the ship finally docked. Hellish piece of wood, riding all the way along Skyrim's coast would have taken longer but certainly would have been more merciful to his stomach. He sat up with a low groan and sat on the edge of the bed for a few seconds, hunched over and he noticed the bucket in the slave's hands as if they both had the same thought. Only a dismissive gesture of the right hand. No need. Just a few more minutes, he hoped.  
  
"The ship has docked," the slave explained and already handed Miraak his thick coat. It would be very cold outside. Finally! As if the prospect of leaving the ship filled him with new life, he put on the coat quickly and already scurried out of the cubicle he shared with Vahlok. Outside, he was welcomed by icy wind and noise. Seagulls, the waves swashing against the ship, countless voices in different languages. Falmeris. Dwemeris. Dovahzul. Commontongue. Miraak stepped forward and joined Vahlok by the prow. Filokaaz belonged to the larger human settlements of Skyrim, dominated by the Skyhaven Temple in which Vokun himself had been buried some years ago.   
"I can't wait to have solid ground under my feet again," Miraak sighed, quietly relieved because this damnable journey was finally over. He did not look forward to the way back.  Vahlok just grinned, from ear to ear, but he had the decency not to tease his friend even further because of his seasickness.   
  
"Then let's go. The way to Bromjunaar is not short either. I bet we will have lots of fun there before things get serious.... Miraak?"  
"Hm?" He glanced at Vahlok as they still stood by the guardrail idly. All passengers would have to be registered first. Some more minutes of calm.  
"No matter what happens and no matter who will be elected in the end... we'll stay friends, right?"  
Such an odd question and Miraak suddenly remembered how much they hated each other at first. He used to think that Vahlok was terribly boring and unintersting and somewhat stupid because he had not the same prodigious talent that made everything so... easy. In turn, Vahlok always thought that Miraak was incredibly arrogant, an annoying know-it-all who thought he could boss around everyone else. Eventually, they had settled their differences some way. At one point, they agreed to never mention the incident at the lake that set the first stone for more amical relations. Miraak thought about the question for a few seconds.   
  
"Don't worry. I won't take off and think I'm above being friends with you once I'm Highpriest."  
Vahlok just rolled his eyes while his friend turned around to leave the ship first. 

  


 


End file.
